Easier to Bear

For those suffering death of loved ones

The streets were filled with people. They always were but today something was different. Everyday people die, and I guess fortunately for some people and unfortunately for others babies are born to replace them. Some people call the bundles of new life monsters, but we were all one once. I was staring out my hospital window trying to solve the mystery of why; why were there more people here today. It was just a normal, typical Wednesday as far as I was concerned. I’d just been in for another round of chemo, my hair now completely gone from the radiotherapy. I glanced back into the room; children’s ward, with immature paintings and toys that in all honesty I had grown out of. I was bored. Really bored. I’d sent my mum home to bed, she’d spent too many nights not sleeping and now I was alone with the window to the outside world which, as much as it seemed to try, seemed to have absolutely no idea of the uphill battle I faced. I wondered sometimes why I even bothered trying, and every time it was my mother’s face that appeared in my mind.
I finally managed to see why everyone was crowded in that street. It was a pageant. A single row of cars, horse drawn carriages and dancers flurried by in an array of colours as the marching band faithfully drummed. Colours usually mesmerised me, and cheered me up. But as I stared aimlessly below I saw a family. I was intrigued. They didn’t seem to be watching the pageant. Instead they were huddled together in what seemed like a massive group hug. From three stories up through the small opening of the window and the raucous of the street, I could hear a mother’s wail. It must have been loud from in the street but no one gave them more than a hurried glance as they posed for selfies, posted on social media, or enjoyed a conversation with their friends. I was perplexed; no one tried to comfort them. Instead people moved past them, laughing at pathetic madness not even noticing the pure distress of the distraught family.
Immediately, I had to do something, so I rang my buzzer for the nurse and insisted she take me down the lift and out of the hospital. I told her I wanted to see the pageant but that wasn’t true; I wanted to see the family. I knew what grief was. Cancer kept stealing my family, first my dad, then my brother and now, me; apparently it was in the genes. At every turn of the hospital corridors I hurried the nurse for fear I would miss the family. But there they were as my chair was manoeuvred out the hospital entrance. I asked the nurse to push my wheel chair closer until I could reach out and touch the mother. She turned slowly.
‘I’m sorry for your loss ma’am,’ I muttered softly. She looked rather surprised; I mean most people would be when a random bald headed kid in a wheelchair addressed them directly. I handed her the only thing I had with me in hospital that could resemble a gift: my teddy. It’d been with me through thick and thin, but it seemed she needed it more. On its fluffy paw was written, ‘never give up´. The woman gulped and hugged me; I let my tears stream as we just stayed there, hugging. When I returned to my bed I felt tireder than I had ever felt before but far more content.
- -
My son had just died when an angel came and visited me. She had no hair, she’d suffered much but she was a gift I’ll never forget. In her feeble state, she gave me a gift; a small brown teddy. On its paw it said three words I shall forever live by: ‘Never Give Up’. But one day I watched it walk away. It climbed out a window of my house and walked down the street. I didn’t have the heart to chase it as I bitterly resigned myself to the fact that it must have been sad living here. I told my husband when he returned from work that afternoon. I cried as I told him it must have been my fault the teddy had left, I must be a terrible person to live with. Why else would my son leave us in such a horrific way? My husband consoled me, reminding me dutifully that it was not my fault, and hugged me until I stopped crying. But I still didn’t feel much better.
I got restless that night. I didn’t manage to get any sleep. I decided around 4am that I’d give up and go for a walk. I quietly left my husband in bed, wrapping a shawl around me. I startled as I opened the front door and before my eyes was teddy, fast asleep in the corner of the porch. I knelt down and thanked the good Lord for bringing him home. I did not want to awake the snoring bear, but my curiosity was aroused when I saw a thin paper clutched tightly in his small paw. Where had this little fellow been?
I sat for a good while contemplating how to get the paper without waking the poor thing, and finally I decided I should be able to just slip it from his grasp. After all it seemed teddy was quite fast asleep. To my dismay, the moment I touched the sheet of paper, he aroused. Maybe the paper was a secret, maybe I’d never know where the bear had been. Surprisingly he sat up and handed me the crumpled sheet. It was a cutting from the newspaper, Ellisia Abigail Goldiman passed away the other day. Her funeral was tomorrow, in the cemetery across the city. I was puzzled, I knew no Goldiman family; they were foreign to me. The teddy must have made a mistake I assured myself as I handed the paper back to him. But he shook his head defiantly; he would not abide with such a thing. It was given to me and I couldn’t give it back.
‘I don’t know her dear bear,’ I whispered softly. But he shook his head pointing to himself. He hugged himself tightly as he pointed above. I looked up and saw nothing. I allowed my gaze to rest again upon his rather sad face and questioned him with my eyes. The teddy sighed. He seemed deep in thought. Finally he cradled his arms and rock back and forth. Then he motioned to himself and pointed again to the heavens.
‘Your baby died? You need to go to the funeral?’ I asked softly. He nodded, and I embraced him, but I felt like he was doing more to help me than I could ever do to help him. Now I understood why he left last night. I stood with him in my arms and promised that tomorrow I would drive him across the city so he could be with his dearest family.
I placed the teddy down on the couch and ran to my husband.
‘He came home! He came home!’ I shouted in his ear.
‘See,’ my husband mumbled sleepily, ‘it wasn’t your fault.’ He rolled over seemingly content to fall back to sleep as I rushed out to face my next problem: what to feed him. But when I left the room there he was, nibbling a cookie, crumbs dribbling down his chest. I smiled my most affirming smile. Today I could relax with him. I still hadn’t returned to work after the death, and the funeral and all, so now I could get acquainted with this little fur ball. I reached to turn on the tv, but teddy urgently jumped to a stand, and beckoning me to follow he took off at a run towards the door. He pounded the door with his soft fist, until I opened the door and he tumbled out. I stood watching him run. I guessed I wouldn’t be getting acquainted with him after all. He waved over his shoulder as he turned into the street. I shut the door sadly; it was time to help my husband get ready for work anyway.
Just after noon I was in my son’s old room cleaning the cupboards only just recently filled with his stuff. I shuffled through a deposit of random papers on his shelf when I came across a picture of my beloved boy and a toy. It wasn’t so much a toy, it was a teddy. I let out a sob and fell to my knees, droplets of tears pooling upon the picture. My son could not have been more than five years old at the time, and in his arms he held the teddy. Yes the teddy, the one who ran down the street 4 hours before.
How long I knelt there I do not know, I pictured the funeral only 3 weeks in the past, it wasn’t fair, why did I have to say goodbye? He was too young. I was aroused from my outpouring of grief by a soft, gentle knocking upon the front door. I dashed out of the room and opened the door to a tired, worn bear covered in dust, and carrying a black suit. I picked up the teddy and cuddled him tight; he’d been there for my boy and my angel, now he was there for me. The suit was clutched between us, safe from the droplets that fell from my eyes onto the teddy’s head and down his back. Teddy hugged me back, reaching up occasionally to wipe liquid streams from my face with his fluffy paws. We sat upon the couch for the rest of the day, snuggled together looking through pictures of my baby boy. We both shed many tears along with tearful laughter. It was good to remember him.
- -
Next morning all dressed in funeral attire, the bear and I arrived at the address on the paper. It was a church with a coffin at the front, and a picture displayed above on a screen. I let out a small gasp. It was my angel, with the teddy in her hand. I saw the family near the front near the coffin. I strode towards them with tears in my eyes and handed them the teddy.
‘I’m sorry for your loss. Your daughter was such a precious girl.’